


Paper Dolls

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [27]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Claustrophobia, Developing Relationship, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Genetically Engineered Beings, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Drama, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Julian’s time in the Gamma Quadrant comes to an end on the tail of monumental revelations, but once back at the station, he feels as though he has jumped from the frying pan to the fire. With his greatest secret out, he fears his life as he knows it is over and doesn’t know how to move forward. Garak wrestles his own demons and realizes that some truths are easier to accept than he once believed possible. He has reached a turning point in his path, but where it will lead is far from decided.





	Paper Dolls

**Part I**

_Julian  
Internment Camp 371_

It was harder than his solitary confinement, watching the scene unfolding before him with Garak and Tain the moment he realized what he was privy to. So many puzzle pieces of Garak’s personality fell into painful place. He felt foolish for not having realized it before, that Tain was Garak’s _father,_ not just a mentor or a superior. He wanted to throat punch the spymaster for making Garak beg him for one scrap of love at the end. _You’re dying, for god’s sake,_ he though bitterly. It was surprising to see him alive at all. He must have taken the Benjisidrine. Was it so he could see his son one last time? It was difficult to imagine he possessed that much sentiment. Nothing else made sense, however.

He wanted to be anywhere but there. He doubted he was of comfort to Garak. What did it say about the two of them that Garak wanted him there? Was all of his harshness during his confinement on the station truly for Julian’s benefit? All this time they had something terrible in common, a fractured relationship with their fathers, without the ability to speak a word of it to one another. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth and squeeze the trembling from his lips. If Garak wasn’t weeping, the least he could do was to maintain the same stoicism.

He wasn’t sure what he expected at Tain’s last breath, but somehow Garak’s matter-of-fact statement to him and Worf that his business in the camp was finished was completely him. Julian gave him his personal privacy and asked nothing that didn’t involve what they were to do next. They had much to discuss, with Martok, Sela, and Varal coming in on it after Garak’s OK.

Later, after the Jem’Hadar removed Tain’s body and everyone bunked down for the night, Julian slipped out of the barracks. The breathing of the others disturbed him after so long in solitary, and his circadian rhythm was completely off kilter. The death haunted him more than any of the others he had witnessed in this place. It made him realize how little he understood Cardassians, how little he understood Garak in particular. He felt guilty for every uncharitable thought he’d ever held of him. What would having a father like Tain do to a person? How was it he still had a heart at all?

He heard the barracks door squeak. The fact that he heard no footsteps follow told him exactly who it was. He stopped to wait so that Garak could catch up to him. The Cardassian nodded once, an indication for him to resume. They walked together without speaking. For once he didn’t find it an effort to hold back his questions. There was nothing he could think of to ask that didn’t sound overly intrusive or insultingly banal. Nor could he say with any degree of honesty that he was glad he was there. Trapped in a prison camp was the last thing he’d ever wish on his former lover.

“I’ve never seen you with facial hair,” Garak said mildly. “I don’t think it suits you.”

He had to laugh, a dry, brittle sound. “I can’t believe you,” he said. “You come all this way, and all you can think to do is insult me about my lack of grooming?”

“We’ll go farther yet before all is said and done,” he said. “I promised Ziyal, you see. You should know I don’t make promises lightly.”

“I’m astounded you made a promise at all that you meant.” It wasn’t lost on him that it was one for which Garak couldn’t know or control the outcome. “How is Ziyal?” It was a safer topic than anything else pressing on them, invisible but weighted.

“If I’m not mistaken, she’s growing rather fond of a certain captain’s son. It seems mutual. I’m not sure how concerned to be about it.” Garak gave a light shrug.

Julian smiled faintly. Jake was a good person. He could see how there might be a draw both ways. It felt surreal walking the prison and gossiping about the station as though no time had passed for them and everything hadn’t changed. He thought of four different things to say, one after the other, with none of them making it past his filter. _So we’re on friendly speaking terms again? All of your caution was for naught. They took me anyway. I can’t believe you didn’t realize he wasn’t me,_ and most painfully of all, _Why didn’t you tell me Tain was your father? Did you think I wouldn’t understand?_

Why had he never told him about his augmentation? Why wasn’t he telling him now? _Hypocrite,_ he thought disconsolately. “How does the captain feel about it?” The lapse in the conversation had lasted long enough to make it awkward.

“I don’t know. We don’t talk about that.” Garak frowned. 

“I was under the impression you didn’t talk at all,” he said, surprised by the phrasing.

Garak looked at him for a measured few breaths before saying, “We’ve discovered we have more in common than we realized.”

_And I’m sure that if I asked, you’d have no intention of telling me what that is. Always with the secrets. Who am I to complain? I suppose we have more in common than you realize, too. You’ll never know how much I hate that I can’t change that._

If Julian wasn’t terribly off base, there was a similar internal one-sided monologue taking place behind the tailor’s bluff exterior. He took scant comfort from the fact that the gulf between them was more likely born of current circumstances than any aversion to connection. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” It was safer than what he’d held back, less likely to lead them to overwrought places.

“You need to stop underestimating Cardassians,” Garak said. “How many years have I been telling you this now?”

“Consider me finally convinced.” If he could trust Garak’s smile that followed, he thought he might have been content for the first time since his awakening in this hellhole. He’d known him too long to read it as anything other than what it most likely was, camouflage for a heart-deep fracture that could potentially lead to another psychotic break. He’d have to watch him closely in the days to come.

_Garak_

There was one reason to be glad his father was dead. He’d never lived to see the one thing he feared above all else, Cardassia under foreign rule. He listened in outraged disbelief to the Vorta’s announcement of the new alliance, further enraged upon hearing whose doing it was. Dukat was a thrice damned fool if he thought for an instant he wasn’t a pawn of the Dominion, a puppet ruler they’d keep in place until he was no longer convenient or they found someone better. His anger was a palpable thing that he determined to hold close until such time as he could act.

In the mean time, there was work to be done. Tain’s meticulous rewiring now needed to be undone and reconfigured so that he could reach the runabout. It hardly mattered the rest of the Cardassians were gone. None of them were high level operatives. None could have done what he now had to do. He retreated to the barracks and helped Sela pry the panel away. The opening looked disconcertingly like a mouth waiting to swallow him whole. _This is bad enough without your morbid tendencies,_ he chided himself. _Stop stalling._

He hoped that crawling inside would be the hardest part. Past experience told him it was a foolish hope. Soon, his racing heart and spinning head confirmed his fear. Days in the closet, wondering if Tain had forgotten him or simply intended to let him die because he was an inconvenience or a failure, days without food or water, light, or enough air birthed in him a terror of enclosed spaces, but it was really his near-death experience on Tzenketh that cemented it as a lifelong phobia.

All of that surrounded him now. It filled the space with him and worked to squeeze out the present moment. He could physically feel the walls closing in and his chest compressing. His body lied to him as effectively as he lied to others. Only his one light source, thoughts of Julian’s safety, and his promise to Ziyal kept him functional. He considered it likely that his involvement with Julian was one of the reasons the doctor was here, a matter both of malice and convenience for the female Founder.

So much for that precaution. If they survived this, one day he might tell him, the real him, that he realized he was wrong. He no longer felt shame in regard to the imposter’s rejection of his advances. No, now he felt nothing but relief that the alien hadn’t accepted his overture, cold rage at the deception, and anger at himself for not noticing the difference. The Founder had played him well, keeping him too off balance and upset to think things through. He vowed not to make that mistake twice.

His world narrowed to hellish days and nights of sorts. The days were entirely too short. They were the times he spent out of the hole to eat and drink, to make head count, and catch a little sleep. The nights were an eternity encapsulated in immeasurable suffering in the close darkness. He lost any ability to track minutes or hours. He told no one of his difficulty. They were powerless to aid him, and he feared any efforts to try would only exacerbate his anxiety.

That was before the light went out.

The psychosis he’d warned Ziyal about swallowed him whole. He found himself utterly cut adrift from the time stream, with every fear and horror of his long life paying visitation upon him at once. He was little Sleg languishing in the closet, Ten Lubak in the cold desert night, a probe slowly crushing to death on Tzenketh and fearing every stolen breath would bring the full weight of the rubble upon him, a disgraced operative setting foot on Terok Nor and recognizing it for the prison it was intended to be.

Smaller pains and rejections had their say. He was everywhere and nowhere, a mind, an insensate body, a mote of suffering drifting on a vast sea of indifference.

Voices carried, first over him, then through him. Two of the voices he found unpleasant and grating, but the one... The one was a dance and shimmer of light across the turbulent black water. He found his feet beneath him and followed the trail away from engulfment back to individuation. He felt the safety of Mila’s arms, the comfort of Tolan’s approbation, the kinship with the regnar.

He was the regnar.

He moved only with the sound of _the_ voice until, to his relief, the words made sense to him, all of the words, the ones in the unpleasant voices and the one in _the_ voice. That voice was resigned, and he absolutely couldn’t have that. He sat up on his cot as though he had never left them for a faraway shore and insisted on getting back to work. They all had their parts to play. He was the only one who could play this one. Like father, like son.

It was a close thing, activating the runabout’s transporter for himself first and then locking onto the rest of them, and they didn’t manage their escape without a final loss, although he hardly counted it as such. He thoroughly disliked Romulans, and the male, Varal, was trouble. He could tell.

Even at maximum warp, he didn’t feel safe. He doubted he’d feel safe back on the station. It was clear that the time of safety for anyone was behind them if there was a Founder there, one so good at what it did no one detected it.

After some time, Julian approached from the back and took a seat in the co-pilot chair. Exhaustion lay in every line of the doctor’s body. He let out a soft breath. “Worf is resting while the bone regenerator is doing its work. Martok said he’d keep an eye on him. Sela wanted some time alone.”

Garak nodded. “When we get closer to one of the relay stations, you should try to contact Deep Space Nine. If we’re lucky, your imposter won’t have heard of our escape.”

“I’ve wanted to ask you about that,” Julian said hesitantly.

“Later,” Garak said firmly. “No matter what I say, it’s bound to be upsetting. We need all of our focus for whatever is coming.”

“You were incredible back there. I... I feel like I finally understand why you always used to get so annoyed with me for calling you paranoid whenever you advised caution. I—”

Garak cut him off with the lightest of touches to his hand. “As I said, there will be time to say everything you feel the need to say later, if we’re lucky. I need you to be the fine Starfleet officer I know you to be for now. Worf is too injured, and I neither know nor trust those other two.” He was well aware of the implications of what he said and counted on Julian to hear it, too. The slight shift in the doctor’s demeanor told him he’d had the intended effect. He was with him in the frame of mind he needed from him. They just might make it back to the station intact after all.

_Julian  
Private Quarters_

Finally alone after his thorough debriefing and an initial scouring of the past month’s worth of medical files at the infirmary, the first thing Julian did was to take a long sonic shower and then an even longer hot water bath. He lay stretched out in the tub with a wet washcloth over his face until the water cooled enough to make lingering an unattractive prospect.

Slinging a towel around his waist, he checked his reflection in the mirror above his vanity and decided he agreed with Garak. The beard stubble wasn’t a good look. He didn’t feel rugged, just unkempt. He activated the remover and quickly ran the beam across his cheeks, jaw, and throat until his skin was smooth. Now he could turn his attention to what he knew was a proper precaution, not paranoia.

An hour later, he was still searching the refresher for any signs of a snooping device. He moved on to his bedroom and everything in it. It looked like a disaster zone with his clothing and bedclothes strewn about. He felt along each fold and seam, looked under his bed, ran his hand along the underside, under the mattress, over the mattress, across his pillow. The nightstand and the contents of its drawers weren’t spared.

Shivering, he flung a robe around himself and tied it with a careless knot at his waist. When he finished with the front room, he hesitated before hailing Garak. He hated to bother him, but he didn’t feel as though he could trust a Starfleet device. The Founders would be prepared for it. Garak agreed to the proposal and arrived about ten minutes later.

Julian followed him while he scanned every crevice and cranny. It took nearly as long as his visual inspection. When Garak turned off his device and announced the quarters clean, he felt a little of the tension leave him, but only a little. “He was here for a whole month,” he said bitterly. “If space weren’t at such a premium, I’d request a change of quarters. I hate the thought of him spending time in here, reading my medical journals, fingering through my files, my clothes, all of my personal things.”

“Let’s get things back in order, shall we?” Garak proposed.

Julian knew he should have been the one doing the bulk of the work. Instead, for the most part, he watched Garak fold and hang his clothing, straighten his drawer and PADDs, and hang his still damp towel. He accepted the pajamas Garak offered him and stepped into his refresher to don them, retied his robe, and came back out again.

He found him seated in his living room with a steaming mug in hand and a second on his coffee table. “I took a bath first thing, myself,” Garak said. He tipped his chin toward the tea. “Tarkalean. Double sweet.”

He sat and took up the mug. Its warmth was a comfort between both of his hands. For a time, he contented himself with that, and then with the steam curling up toward his clean-shaven face. The sweet scent of the tea untied a few of his internal knots. He began trying to sort what he wanted to tell Garak and what he thought he might try to keep from him. He felt zero inclination to discuss Tain whatsoever. He settled on, “You always save me.”

Garak arched an eye ridge. “In this case, I can hardly take credit, as I didn’t know you needed it.”

Julian just stared at him and hoped that this once he’d concede he deserved the praise. He may not have known he’d find Julian in the camp, but once he did, he overcame unimaginable psychic stress to save not only him, but almost all of them. He felt a pang of regret about Varal. He couldn’t say they had ever liked one another, but the Romulan had been a reliable co-conspirator up to the very end. He smiled a bit sadly as the silence stretched.

“Can we talk now about some of the things you asked me to put off in the runabout?” He hated having to be so careful. He could recall a time when their conversations flowed easily. Of course, that was before they peeled away each others’ facades and started poking at the holes beneath. His biggest secret still lay buried. If he had any hope of keeping it that way, he couldn’t afford to press Garak too hard.

Garak sipped his tea and conceded assent with a nod. Julian saw a weariness in his eyes that he didn’t believe he’d allow to show if he didn’t trust him. He decided not to betray that trust by prodding sore spots.

“Did you have much contact with the changeling?” he asked, trying not to sound as hurt as he felt about it.

Garak shook his head. “No. He played the role admirably. I don’t know if he knew of our breach or merely assumed that you and I weren’t very close. It seemed to me as though you had accepted everything I said before my incarceration and were giving me my space.”

He couldn’t help but to close his eyes in relief. That made sense. If Garak thought he was doing as he had asked, then he wouldn’t turn around and seek him out. It wasn’t a matter of not knowing him or not caring. He took more sweet tea across his tongue with a sour thought. It also meant he was firm in his position that they were done. Cardassia came first now. The news of the Dominion alliance would only cement his resolve.

“I was ignorant,” he said quietly and set his mug aside. “Of so many things. I was a child playing at games I didn’t understand, and—”

“No one could ever tell me anything, either, Julian,” Garak said plainly. “I’ve always had to learn it the hard way. The only thing that truly matters in the end is that we do learn.” He set his mug on the table beside the sweeper and stood to close the distance between them.

Julian watched him with confusion and a sense of unreality. There was no way this was happening, no way Garak would ever go back on a position he took so stridently and at such personal cost. He couldn’t bring himself around to acceptance until he was on his feet chest to chest, with arms around him and a mouth on his as warm, intense, and loving as he could ever have dreamed and had stopped daring to hope.

Blue eyes met brown fully open and aware. It wasn’t the alien hunger that could frighten him as much as it excited. Nor was it a mask of arousal and lust, although he read elements of both in the way his scales darkened and his hands clutched. He felt himself starting to tremble, because as much as that look laid him open, it invited him deeper than he thought he could go without reciprocating.

His secret lodged in his throat. His hands fumbled against the exquisite tunic until gray hands closed loosely about brown fingers and lifted them to lips that met them with reverence. When he opened his mouth to protest, Garak shook his head. The look was weighted and knowing, loneliness exposed that asked him to meet him where he was.

He closed his eyes over a spill of tears. The lips followed there, too, kiss after kiss until he couldn’t bear it in silence. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.” The sound of his heart pounding in his ears was a steady, hot roar. It wasn’t fair to finally get what he’d desperately wanted for years, past many of the Cardassian’s barriers, only to find it was his own that held him frozen in place.

He expected angry rejection, Garak’s usual aggressive offense when he found himself on the defensive. He didn’t expect to be gathered close or to find his face pressed into the cool hollow of scale, fingers tangling in damp waves, a slow, steady heartbeat against the center of his chest. “Don’t do this.” He hardly recognized his own voice, thick and congested. “I know you’re angry. It’s what you’ve always said about me. That I can’t... That I’m the one who can’t.” He struggled, and after a moment or two, Garak relented and allowed him to pull away.

He swiped quickly at both eyes and cheeks then rubbed a hand under his nose to clean himself up as best as he could. “You deserve... You _don’t_ deserve this.” He gestured deprecatingly at himself. He had never loathed himself more than in that moment. “Someone who can’t... I need you to go.” _Please, before I give in to this and ruin my life._

The tailor opened his mouth only to shut it again. He simply nodded. The dignified resignation hurt enough to see, but the confusion that lay beneath it was what almost destroyed Julian entirely. He held himself together until the door hissed shut and collapsed in on himself in a way he hadn’t for years. No wonder everyone always left. If he could get away from himself, he’d do it, too, and never look back.

**Part II**

_Garak  
The Celestial Café_

He wasn’t sure he was fully anchored back in time since his break in the prison, or perhaps he was beginning to feel his age. Everything seemed to be flowing around him at light speed while he remained still. Ziyal’s and Jake’s smiles were all for each other under the shimmering golden light of the café’s decor. Whatever secrets they shared were the breathless, all important ones birthed from the earnestness of youth. It pleased him to see her acting her age and living the sort of life she should have had from the beginning. If she was more solemn in her rare quiet beats between the conversations, she had her reasons.

Who better than he to understand the harsh sting of judgment from a father who found his offspring wanting?

Aroya had outdone herself in every way, the food piled high on buffet style tables, the sparkling dishes, her elegant coif and the sunset hued dress that flattered her so well. She obviously intended her send-off to be memorable. No one smiled wider or laughed more unreservedly than she. Mayna glided through the crowd with a tray of drinks, never missing a beat in collecting the empties.

Odo stood off to the side speaking to the major. Dax had somehow managed to cajole Worf into making an appearance. Some notable faces were missing, namely Julian and the chief, as well as Leeta. He wondered if that had to do with the visitors on the station, as he understood it, Julian’s parents and a well respected Starfleet doctor. Uncharacteristically for him, he’d kept his nose out of all of it. Ever since Julian’s tearful rejection, he had kept his distance.

He couldn’t pretend to understand what prompted it. He only knew that if he pressed for that answer, it would have been a violence worse than anything he had ever done to him physically, and he was through with that chapter of his life, or if not through, doing his best to take the first definitive steps in a better direction. Somehow, losing Tain for the second time freed him of the shackles of his attachment to his father. On that cot, when he’d wrested from him the one concession to sentiment, he had seen clearly for the first time how bankrupt everything he had ever fought for and attained from him truly was.

Rom approached him with an expression he knew boded trouble. He obliged his desire to retreat to a far table. Glancing around him, Rom grasped his sleeve. “Don’t look now, but they’re here,” he said nervously.

“Who?” Garak asked. He conceded to that request, as well, not turning to see for himself.

“Leeta and Doctor Zimmerman.”

“The Starfleet doctor?” he asked unnecessarily. He knew that much.

“Yes,” Rom nodded. “I don’t understand it. He’s swept her off her feet. She’s leaving the station with him when he goes. She has a job offer on Jupiter Station.”

For the first time since returning from the Gamma Quadrant, Garak felt something of his old self raise its head. He gripped Rom tightly by the upper arm and leaned in close. “You’re just going to let that happen?” he asked, genuinely angry.

“What choice do I have?” Rom wailed. “I can’t force her to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

“Let me guess,” Garak said crossly. “You haven’t said a word about what you want or how you feel.”

“Brother told me—” 

Garak cut him off, his voice low but his tone sharp. “If you want to open a business, by all means, take advice from Quark. If you don’t want the woman you love to walk off this station and never see her again, he is the _last_ person you should listen to. If you let Leeta go, you are the biggest idiot I have ever met, and I don’t think I can forgive you for it.” He stood then and headed back into the small crowd.

Leeta waved him over to meet the doctor. Garak was the picture of pleasant decorum and let on nothing of his knowledge of her news, greeting her announcement about her opportunity with an appropriate level of surprise and well wishes. He might not approve. It didn’t mean he didn’t fully understand. Of everyone he knew, she most deserved someone who wanted her wholeheartedly and who would fight for her. If Rom wouldn’t and this Zimmerman would, then how could he begrudge her that?

A shadow fell across his shoulder at the buffet while he examined the desserts. “I would speak with you,” Worf said.

He made him wait long enough for him to dish up some spice pudding. Some old habits died harder than others. He turned with bowl and spoon in hand. “I’m at your disposal,” he said pleasantly. _This should be interesting._

The Klingon nodded toward a quiet corner. Garak couldn’t help but to notice that Dax’s eyes followed them. Had she put Worf up to this, or was she concerned about it? The latter thought made him square his shoulders.

“My battles with the Jem’Hadar made me realize something,” Worf said. 

Did he look uncomfortable? Garak felt his interest growing by the moment. “Yes?” He took a bite and thoroughly savored it.

“I have no one here to spar with who won’t hold back,” the Klingon continued.

“Cracking my head open once wasn’t enough for you?” Garak asked with deceptive blandness.

“That fight could have easily gone either way. There is mettle in you I have not seen in any other. You proved that twice over in the prison camp.” He paused as though having to force himself to follow through. “I would be...honored...if you would train with me. You cannot tell me that there would be nothing of value in it for you. We cannot know what threat we will face from the Dominion in the coming days.”

Strange enemies made stranger bedfellows, he thought. “All right,” he agreed. “But the moment you complain that I’m not fighting fair or some other such nonsense, we’re done. I fight how I fight. I expect the same from you, and I suggest you tell Captain Sisko before we start. I don’t want to find myself hauled to security for assaulting a Starfleet officer. I somehow doubt they’ll believe me if I tell them you asked for it.”

“You assume you will wound me seriously enough for that situation to arise,” Worf said, a spark of fire in his dark eyes.

“You assume I won’t at your peril,” Garak said, smiling and meaning it. He did have a score to settle, after all.

_Julian  
Quark’s Bar_

Julian kept up his facade of normalcy through his dart game with the chief. If Miles was determined to act like it didn’t matter, then he would give him that. As grateful as he was for his loyalty, he couldn’t convince himself it would last. He couldn’t be the only Starfleeter to look at him and not see the menacing shadow of Khan Noonian Singh. When it truly sank in, he’d see the cracks in Miles’ facade. He felt sure of it.

He ordered a Black Hole and stared numbly into the glass. What would happen when Garak heard, if he hadn’t already? Tipping the glass back, he let it all down his throat in one swallow. _You have to be the one to tell him, or he’ll never forgive you for this._ He hadn’t expected to have it taken out of his hands. He had been trying to work up to it ever since that terrible night that he sent him away. He recalled the look in Garak’s eyes perfectly, both before and after he rejected him. He signaled for another drink. “Just keep them coming,” he told Quark.

Quark shook his head. “Your funeral,” he said. He made another and set it down in front of him. By the fourth he cut him off and refused to back down. _Fine time for him to grow a conscience,_ Julian thought.

He staggered out of the bar and down the Promenade. He may as well do this now. By morning the gossip would be flying, and he wasn’t going to be feeling any braver. He had no idea how late it was and didn’t care. Garak usually retired late.

Leaning against the back of the turbolift, he shut his eyes. The sight of the decks passing him made him queasy. He stepped off at Garak’s h-ring. His feet dragged. By the time he reached the door, he felt as though he was barely moving at all. He stared at the door control and swallowed heavily. _He deserves to hear it from you._ He activated the chime and waited.

“Who is it?” It was impossible to tell from his voice if he had awakened him or not.

“It’s Julian.” God, he was slurring. He slapped himself across the cheek a couple of times in an effort to slow the spinning of his head.

“Enter.” The door slid open to admit him to dim lighting.

So he had awakened him, or worse, he’d caught him during one of his migraines. Garak stood just on this side of his bedroom door wrapped in a thick robe and wearing slippers. That was a little encouraging. He wouldn’t be bundled up like that for a headache unless he had gone to bed with it some time ago. “’S this a bad time?” he asked with a bleary blink.

“It would seem so,” Garak said archly. “Am I to be left in suspense, or are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“I’m an augment. There, I’ve said it. It’s out. It’s going to be all over the station by morning.” He spread his arms wide and swayed in place. “Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir, the human freak.” He thought he’d have to get used to that word. Easier if it came from him before others could beat him to the punch.

Garak frowned, his expression somehow reminding Julian of a cat with its ears spread sideways. He held back an undignified giggle at the mental picture. “You’re...serious, aren’t you?” Garak asked, approaching him slowly and looking at him as though seeing him for the first time.

“I’d never joke about this. My father is on his way to prison for it as we speak,” Julian said with exaggerated seriousness, a hand to his chest. “Because he and my mother love me very much, so they say, and I suppose I have no choice but to believe them.”

“Your career?” Garak asked.

“Intact, thanks to the deal they cut. They thought of everything.” He knew he sounded angry and petulant. He shouldn’t have drunk so much. He had no control like this. He took a few steps closer to Garak. “Come on, then. It’s not like you to hold back. Tell me what you really think. It’s your chance to take me down a peg or two and get some of your own back after all the times you tried to reach me. You were absolutely right, you know. I was the one holding you at arms’ length. If I didn’t, you’d have seen straight through me, and I couldn’t have that.”

“I’m going to insist you sleep this off before we talk about this,” Garak said. “If you want to sleep on my couch, I can—” 

Julian cut him off. “No stomach for confrontation anymore? Come on, Garak. I’m right here!”

“I’ve been many things to you through the years,” Garak replied quietly, “most of them on my terms, but not always. In this case, I believe you’re lashing yourself sufficiently without me as an instrument of your self-destruction. Stay, or go. Your choice. I’m not going to allow you to goad me. If you want a blanket, I trust you know where to find it. Good night, Doctor.” He turned toward his door to head back into the bedroom.

“It’s always on your terms!” Julian snapped. “Tell me one time. Tell me _once_ when things haven’t shaped themselves according to how you decided they’d go. I’m always left to play catch up to you. Do you think I was faking that? You’re the only person who has ever stayed three steps ahead of me, and it was...it was _fantastic_ to finally have that. Only...only I couldn’t really, could I? You couldn’t just...just leave it alone. You had to prod, and pry. You, and Leeta, and everyone I was ever selfish enough to try to have.”

Garak disappeared into the darkness of the bedroom. Julian waited for the door to shut. Instead, he emerged with a blanket and spare pillow in his arms. He handed them over, turned on his heel, and retreated. This time the door not only shut but locked.

Hugging the bundle to his chest, Julian stumbled over to the couch. Instead of making himself a bed, he sank to a seat in front of it and rested his face in the softness of the bedclothes. He passed out with the room spinning and not knowing whether it was the alcohol or his self-loathing that had him feeling as sick as he did.

_Garak  
Private Quarters_

He lay in bed a long time staring up toward his ceiling lost in shadow. It all made sense now, everything he had ever wondered about the man and why he held him away. He felt grudging admiration for how well he’d hidden it all. In his appreciation for his fine mind and discernment, genetic augmentation wasn’t a path he’d considered even once.

It wasn’t frowned on among his people like Terrans. He hadn’t made a detailed study of Terran history by any means, but there were few who traveled far from Prime who hadn’t heard something about the Eugenics Wars. He understood his reasoning for keeping it close to the vest. It did beg the question. Had Julian ever truly been himself with him before? Did he know Julian Bashir, or only a carefully constructed facade?

_Probably about as much as he’s known the ‘real’ you,_ he thought. What a mess. He rested the palms of his hands against his closed eyelids, fingers curved gently over the ridges. He had seen enough tonight to know that Julian wasn’t ready to accept being accepted. He was intimate with that feeling. As long as he felt that need for self-flagellation, he wouldn’t be ready for anything real. If Garak offered it, he had no doubt Julian would find a way to twist it or reject it.

He chuffed a dry sound, not quite a laugh. “No one has ever accused you of excellent timing,” he murmured. A smart man would probably admit defeat for once and for all. He was more clever than simply smart, an important distinction, he believed. He recalled Dax’s words to him from several years ago, when it had seemed they might decide to get along, before his failed attempt on the Founders’ and her crew mates’ lives permanently shut that door. Someone had to be the adult, and Julian was in no position to make that decision. He was hurting too much.

_Always on my terms, is it? If only._ He turned to his side and willed himself asleep. If he had any hope of not losing his last shred of patience with a hungover Julian in the morning, he needed to be well rested.

He didn’t expect to find him on the floor slumped forward over the blanket. His loud snores removed any doubts as to whether he was alive or not. He resisted the impulse to bend low and sweep his hair back. If he was right, it would be a while yet before Julian would accept anything like that from him willingly without suspicion or trying to throw it back at him somehow. He passed him to replicate himself warm rokassa juice and took a seat at his table.

Not long after, Julian stirred, probably dragged up from sleep by the odor. He never had been able to abide it. He groaned deeply. “What time is it?” he croaked.

“You aren’t late for work,” Garak said. “I wouldn’t have allowed it.” He could no longer see him from his position. He could imagine it in his mind’s eye, the slow piecing together of the waking world. That transitional time for Julian had always been a point of private fascination on his part, a glimpse into a part of human nature and biology that had no equivalent in Cardassians. He sipped his juice and waited. He saw patience more as necessity than virtue at times like this.

Julian staggered to his feet and set down the blanket and pillow with a soft whump onto Garak’s sofa, only to retreat to the refresher. Garak was halfway through his juice by his return. The younger man looked more alert with telltale dampness at his forehead and temples from splashing his face. His expression was so bleak it tempted Garak to break the silence first. He refrained.

“I made a spectacle of myself last night,” Julian said finally. He was hesitant in his approach to the table, more so in taking a seat there. He laced his fingers together. Garak noticed faint whiteness at his knuckles. The doctor’s face contorted before he brought it back under control. “I wish you’d say something.”

Garak’s soft noise was skeptical. “’Something?’” He shook his head. “No, I expect you won’t feel satisfied unless I say very specific somethings. Do you expect me to be angry that you kept this from me? To see you from a Federation perspective? I realize that in our association I haven’t given you reason to expect much of mercy or quarter from me. Does this strike you as one of the situations that trigger my baser nature? Or do you simply wish that it was, because it would lend credence to how you feel?”

“How do you think I feel, Garak?” he asked with a brief flash of anger, quickly suppressed once more.

It was rather like Kotra, Garak reflected. Any answer he gave would reveal the inner workings of his mind and the direction in which his emotions flowed. Knowing he was potentially being assessed by a finer mind than he had once believed completely shifted their dynamics for him. “Forced to hide your true nature for all of your life, having the decision to reveal it taken from your hands...” He allowed it to hang.

“Not all of my life.” There was such bitterness in that statement that it gave Garak pause. Did he want this truth? “I was...slow. Years behind my peers in development, and my father, in his usual desire to take short-cuts and self-aggrandize, decided he’d rather have me diced and spliced from the inside out, rather than go the usual route of years of special education and more conventional therapy.

“Once they started, why stop at _average?_ They enhanced my reflexes and strength, hand-eye coordination, ability to calculate and make abstract connections concrete. There was nothing left of me, the original me, by the time they were done. As far as I know, they probably made me more attractive. I’ve never seen images of me from the ages of two to around seven.”

Garak frowned. He didn’t want to rub salt into obvious wounds, but he had a hard time understanding how any of this was a bad thing, aside from the fact it was illegal and put Julian and his family in jeopardy once the secret came out. “So you’re...angry...that your parents gave you a chance to be useful?”

_“Useful?”_ Julian was on his feet in an instant, pacing, because sitting still would no longer contain his emotions. “So if I had been left to develop on my own, on a slower, less invasive time table, if I’d been average or below it, you think I’d have been useless? Is that what you’re saying? People who aren’t super-human are useless?”

He stalked around the sofa. “Why am I asking? Of course that’s what you’re saying. You’re Cardassian. Your people wouldn’t let someone like I was live at all. I’d have been...what...driven out to the edge of a city and left to my own devices in the desert?”

“Likely,” Garak said, “or murdered by your father or mother in your sleep.”

“So you see no problem with what they did.” Emotion cut through his hangover haze. Garak read the hurt and outrage plainly in his eyes.

“That’s right,” Garak said calmly, adding, “but I’m not arguing with you, Julian. I’m asking you to help me understand why you do.”

Julian drew in a convulsive gasp of air, and it looked as though whatever had animated his frenetic pacing drained out of him in his exhale. “I don’t know if you can understand. Or if you do, if you’ll be able to tell me or show me that. They tell me they did all of this for love, and...I want to believe it. I do, but I... Do you know what it’s like when your own father is ashamed of you just for being who you are?”

Garak gestured at the seat Julian had vacated. “My father was Enabran Tain, dear. What do you think?”

Swiping away his tears before they could get far, Julian nodded and took the seat again. “I can’t imagine...”

“No, you can’t, but we aren’t talking about me,” Garak said in a way to indicate that they wouldn’t. He was ready to let all of that lie in the past. Seeing Tain’s life leave him had the unexpected effect of freeing him from bonds deeper than he had realized tied him, internal things that had nothing to do with external enemies or where he was or wasn’t allowed to go.

“I’ve had this feeling, ever since I discovered what they had done to me, that I can’t be proud of any of my accomplishments. I can’t...I can’t ever be myself or let anyone know how I think, much less what I think. They’d find me out. Our friendship, before all of the...the complications...you wouldn’t have looked twice at me if I were an average human doctor. You sensed it from the start, and I...” He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “I couldn’t resist what you offered, the chance to be challenged, to exercise parts of me that never saw the light of day.”

“I’m no geneticist, so you’ll forgive me if I sound ignorant. Your genes don’t make you compassionate or empathetic.” He held up a finger to forestall an interruption. “You are likely right about what initially drew me to you. You seemed more Cardassian in your lines of logic, even when you were being ridiculously obtuse. Do you truly think it was your logic or ability to assess literature that allowed me to have you at my side when I came close to dying?” _Would I have ever allowed someone I couldn’t trust to witness what you did in that camp? Do you understand me so little despite your vast intelligence?_ He wondered.

“I thought my compassion was a weakness,” he said. Garak detected something of reluctant amusement in the sullen retort.

“I don’t have to agree it’s wise to admire the quality in others.” He sipped his juice fastidiously. There. That was what he hoped to see, a faint smile, a shake of the head. His dear doctor had taken a beating, and it would be some time before Garak would be able to tell how much of whatever new he observed was a result of that and how much was the real Julian emerging from his shell. It would be very interesting, he was sure.

Julian reached across the table and touched his hand. Warm fingers delved into the valleys between the peaks of gray knuckles for a squeeze. Much like Leeta, the doctor gave him nothing to fight or argue against. And because of that, he was able to accept it for what he believed it was meant to be, compassion for the beatings he had taken recently, himself. He turned his hand to nestle palm against palm, fingers against each other’s wrists.

“I never can predict you,” Julian said finally, offering one final squeeze and sliding his hand back. “I ought to get to my quarters and get ready for work. I still don’t know what, if anything, the Founder did to my files or our medical systems. I’m not going to feel any better about that until I have a chance for a thorough poring through the records and code.” He stood and hesitated. “Can I... I mean, are we allowed to see each other again? For lunches,” he blurted. “It doesn’t make much sense to avoid each other after...”

“You’re right. It makes no sense,” Garak conceded. “They’re aware of us. We have a better chance with a united front than a divided one.” Something had shifted in him already. Knowing much of Julian’s bumbling and ingratiation were acts elevated him to an equal in this deadly game, or as near to one he’d have with Tain and most of his old associates dead.

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” It was a more subdued reaction than it once would have been. Garak thought he read relief in his posture, nonetheless. Julian gave him a final nod and quickly left his quarters. Garak finished his juice before putting away the spare bedding and heading to work.

**Part III**

_Julian  
The Infirmary_

“I’m fine,” Kira said with rising impatience. She hopped off the exam table and spread her arms. “There were no complications with Kirayoshi’s birth, and I’ve been back on my feet and back to work with no issues. Look, Julian, I understand why you’re worried. I’m telling you that you shouldn’t be. Not about me.”

He paused in the process of adding an entry to his PADD. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. Who was he supposed to be worried about?

“What’s what supposed to mean?” She frowned and stared at him without blinking.

“Not about you,” he said.

She shook her head. “Exactly what it sounds like. You shouldn’t be worried about me. Prophets, what else could it mean?”

He finished the entry and set the PADD aside. “I don’t know. I suppose I feel unsettled. He was here an entire month with no one the wiser, and then after what happened with Dr. Zimmerman, I don’t know how or where everything fits. I hate that he helped deliver the baby. So many things could have gone wrong.”

She seized him by both shoulders as though she’d shake him. Mercifully, she didn’t. He still had a headache from his hangover. “Could have, but didn’t. You’ve got to be able to let that go. As for the rest of it, you’re still you. Still annoying.” She flashed him a quicksilver grin, there and gone again. “Still a brilliant doctor. Still my friend.”

“Annoying?” he asked. He wanted to meet her in the tease. His heart still wasn’t in it. He felt so raw and exposed, as though at any moment it would all come crashing down. Brass would change their minds and toss him out as too risky to keep around.

“When you fixate on things you shouldn’t? Yes,” she said. She dropped her hands back to her sides. “Spend time with the chief. Spend time with the _baby._ If anything will get your mind off of things, he will. He’s so smart already.”

He chuckled and nodded. “All right,” he said without necessarily meaning it. He didn’t want to see Miles. It bothered him to know that they had supposedly spent a lot of time together without his ever noticing anything was off or wrong. “You know, you sound like a mother.” He instantly regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. He saw the hurt in Kira’s eyes. She couldn’t hide it fast enough, her smile facile and false as she hurried out of the exam room.

“For someone so smart, you’re still awfully stupid,” he murmured.

The rest of the day he spent buried in medical files and the systems housing them. The truly troubling thing was that the changeling mimicked his note taking perfectly. If he were an outsider reading over them, he wouldn’t have been able to tell someone other than he had written them. He was also accurate in his treatment protocols. That should have been a relief. It wasn’t. It meant the Founders’ knowledge of Alpha Quadrant species was much more comprehensive than it should have been.

He was also desperate to hear what happened on Vulcan. In his briefing, he’d passed along the fact that Murak, the real one, was dead. It wasn’t his place to communicate such things directly or to question Captain Sisko about Starfleet issues that went beyond his pay grade. Aside from discovering the changeling Murak’s fate, he had another pressing bit of business to put behind him from the internment camp that was more within his reach.

He shut down his console for the evening, bade his staff good night, and started for Habitat Level Three. He tried to pretend he didn’t see the uncertainty in his Starfleet staff and Frendel’s guilt. Did the nurse blame himself for not noticing? Or did he now view him differently and feel bad about it?

It was obvious word was spreading. He could tell who had heard and who remained oblivious just by who met his gaze and who avoided it. The avoidance was different from preoccupation with one’s own business. There were some of those, too. He hoped that one day soon the novelty of the news would fade away. People would realize he hadn’t changed, not on the inside.

When he arrived at the guest quarters, he activated the chime and stepped through the door when invited. Sela looked different clean and in a new uniform, imposing and more alien. “You didn’t have to come,” she said stiffly.

“I’m aware. I wanted to. I know there’s no way for this not to be awkward. Maybe you don’t even want my thanks or anything else of me now that you’re going home. You have it nonetheless. You were the first one who showed me kindness. You never once gave me a reason to doubt you. I won’t forget that, and I won’t forget Varal’s sacrifice for all of us.” 

“Varal was an ass,” she said without heat. She turned to gaze out the single star port in the small room. “I won’t forget you, either. I suppose you weren’t completely useless.”

He heard an edge of something in her voice he chose to take as humor. He had seen little enough of it during their captivity to be completely sure. “A high compliment from a Tal Shiar operative,” he said in kind. “They wanted you to have an escort to the shuttle, understandably. I volunteered.”

She turned back to face him and tilted her head to indicate she was ready. “Then lead the way. It will be good to go home.”

They didn’t speak on their way to the airlock. Julian was surprised to see General Martok there. Sensing the Klingon might like a moment with her alone, Julian nodded a final farewell and turned to go. He heard the two’s murmurs carry back to him but nothing distinct. Of the original conspirators, they were the final two, something he had been a part of for a relatively short time in comparison. It felt strange to feel a pang about letting that go, given it was such a difficult experience. He doubted he’d ever see or hear from her again. They could wind up enemies on opposing starships and never know it.

He felt cut adrift from his life, the station both familiar and strange. There was a veneer of unreality over it that reminded him of his last walk in the commons of the prison before the deadly foray into the control center. He couldn’t put his finger on the danger here. He only knew he felt it.

He walked the entire length of the Promenade, ascended to the second level and began a walk back in the other direction. The dark, empty front of the Celestial Café reminded him that he’d missed Chalan’s party. It couldn’t be helped. The chaos of his family’s visit and the fallout saw to that. He didn’t feel as though he knew her well enough to call on her. He’d miss the dinners there with friends, the delicious food. He wondered how Odo was faring, if this was a shock for him or something he’d expected.

Life went on. It would’ve whether he’d survived or died during his imprisonment. He hugged himself disconsolately with that thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it to, of course. He wasn’t that selfish. What was it, then?

He took up observation in what was often one of Odo’s and Kira’s favorite spots. From there he could see both Quark’s Bar and Garak’s empty shop. Resting his forearms on the railing, he lifted his fist and settled his cheek against it. _You’re still dehydrated._ He could tell from the feeling of his skin.

He wouldn’t have tried to get Miles’ attention if he hadn’t spotted him first, tipping his head up and trying to wave him down. Julian shook his head and tried to wave him on. The stubborn man refused, instead climbing the stairs and trotting over to where he stood. “Didn’t think you’d be out and about tonight,” Miles said.

“I’m not.” He straightened and tugged at his jacket. The new uniform was going to take some getting used to. “I mean, I’m not up to drinking, or...” He shrugged. There was no “or,” not in the foreseeable future. The idea of being in a holosuite felt ridiculous.

“That’s all right. I get it,” the chief said. “I wasn’t planning on much more than a pint, myself. What’re you doing up here?”

Shaking his head, he shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?”

Miles nodded, frowning. “You spoken to Telnorri yet?”

Irritation tightened Julian’s brow. “No.”

“Don’t you think you should?” Miles’ eyes rounded in the question.

He reserved his sigh as an inwardly expressed thought rather than an exhale. “Probably.” At Miles’ expression, he quickly added, “Yes. OK? Yes. I’ll do that.” He couldn’t ask what he wanted to ask. Until he could figure out a way to do it, he didn’t think he could handle his company in large doses. Maybe Roberto could help him figure out how to put it without destroying his friendship. He opened his mouth to beg off for the evening but wasn’t quick enough.

“D’you want to come meet the baby?” Miles offered. 

He couldn’t very well say no to that without sounding like an utter heel. “I’d like that,” he said without meaning it. He wanted to meet Kirayoshi. He didn’t want to meet him tonight or deal with scenes of familial bliss so soon after his fractious visit with his parents and the painful way it came to a close.

He fell into step with him and listened to all of the excited new father talk he was expected to tolerate in good humor. It was a relief to hear Miles wasn’t still speaking overly enthusiastically about Nerys. He was far more focused on his son and Molly, plus Keiko’s happiness at being able to hold her baby any time she wanted. He tried not to think about the look in Nerys’ eyes when he’d thoughtlessly mentioned motherhood. He could only deal with one thing at a time.

“You’re back early,” Keiko called from the next room. She emerged into the bedroom doorway with Kirayoshi in her arms. “Julian!” she said, her entire face blossoming into a bright smile. “Here, Miles,” she hurried to pass the baby over to him and stepped up to bear hug Julian around his neck.

Miles shrugged and gave him a half grin over Keiko’s shoulder. Less than three seconds later, he felt Molly hit his side and a thin arm around his thigh. “Uncle Julian!” the little girl smiled up at him with a gap in her teeth. “Look! Look!” She pulled her lips back in an unnatural grimace to be sure he saw.

He hugged Keiko with warmth and private gratitude for her kindness before disentangling and dropping down to a squat so that he could pull Molly in. “You know what that means, right?” he asked.

“The Tooth Fairy has already been here,” she said.

“Really? Did you see her?” he asked, eyes wide.

She rolled hers. “Of course not. She’s invisible.”

“Oh.” He reached up to brush her long bangs out of her eyes. “Well, aside from a Tooth Fairy visit, do you know what else it means?” He glanced over at Miles and Keiko. She had moved to his side. Both of them were watching him. “It means you’re growing up entirely too fast.”

“I am not. Kirayoshi needs the biggest sister he can get.” She pulled away from him and reached her arms up to Miles. “Can I show him to Uncle Julian? Pleeease?”

“Remember how we showed you to hold him,” Keiko prompted.

“I remember,” Molly said as though she was insulted that her mother thought she was dumb. Miles bent to a knee and carefully offered the baby to Molly’s waiting arms.

“Support his head. Right, there you go.” He was just a step or two behind Molly in case of disaster, but he shouldn’t have worried. The little girl was solemn and extremely careful. She stood close to Julian and leaned in.

He dutifully matched her movements and let his gaze trail over the tiny, peacefully sleeping features. “He looks like you,” he told Molly.

She pulled a face. “He does not. He’s a _baby._ I’m not a baby.”

“May I?” he asked.

She looked for her parents’ approval before handing him over. “You have to be careful,” she said. “You have to hold his head. He can’t hold it up by himself.”

“I’ll be very careful,” he promised. However, in the transfer, he woke him up. Kirayoshi immediately started crying.

“Uncle Julian!” she said reproachfully. “You did it wrong! Daddy, he did it wrong!”

“It’s all right, Molly,” Keiko said. “He’s just a light sleeper.” She met Julian halfway to take him and bounce him gently in her arms. “Shh, shhh. It’s all right now. Let’s just get you back in the bedroom. Come on, Molly. Help me with your brother.”

“She’s protective,” Miles said once the door closed.

“I see that.” Julian smiled and shrugged. “It’s better than the alternative. Does he cry a lot?”

“No more ‘n any healthy baby,” Miles said. “Sometimes I wish Nerys hadn’t moved out already, though. I imagine between the three of us, one of us could get a full night’s sleep every now ‘n then.”

“Well.” Julian clapped his hands once and rubbed his palms together. “I ought to be going.”

“Y’ jus’ got here. He’ll be asleep again soon. You can’t stay for one drink?” he asked, looking surprised.

“I don’t think so. I’m still exhausted and trying to get used to being back in my quarters.”

Shadows passed behind the chief’s gaze. “I get that,” he said a little more quietly. “Y’ know you can always talk to me. If you need to. I don’ care what time it is.”

“I know. Thank you. Tell Keiko and Molly good night for me, will you?” He kept his pleasant expression until he was back out in the corridor. He didn’t like to admit how much the noise of the baby’s crying had gotten to him. Pretty much ever since his release from solitary confinement, he found himself more easily overwhelmed by stimuli, particularly loud noises and bright lights. He had every intention of heading to his quarters, not drifting through the station like a rudderless ship for the rest of the night, but that was exactly what he did.

_Garak  
Kira’s Quarters_

The Kotra invitation was as surprising as the dinner Major Kira and Ziyal served him. “The last of Aroya’s leftovers,” Ziyal said. Kira’s strategy was properly aggressive but too impulsive, Ziyal’s creative but cautious. He gave them his feedback and enjoyable enough small talk, all the while wondering where it was going and where the invitation had come from. Kira’s invitation, not Ziyal’s, so it couldn’t have been purely social.

He thought perhaps they were getting close to the mystery of it after the third time Kira gave Ziyal what she must have believed to be a stealthy significant glance. Ziyal sighed and set aside the dice. “This feels weird,” she complained.

“I’m sorry for that,” Kira said. “It’s like I’ve already told you. I can’t answer your questions. Maybe Garak can’t, either, but he’s the closest we’ve got to the perspective you’re looking for.”

“Of course, I’ll do whatever I can,” he said, looking between the two.

“Don’t commit so quickly,” Ziyal said. “It’s...it’s about Father.”

“I see.” He retreated to neutral caution. He hadn’t forgotten how Dukat recently shoved him halfway over the balcony in the bar and likely would have thrown him down headfirst without Quark’s threats to call security. Ziyal’s pleas for him to stop hadn’t been enough.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” she scolded Kira.

“Hey, he didn’t say no,” Kira pointed out. She decided to take matters into her own hands. “Before you got back from the rescue mission, when he left the station, Dukat wanted her to come with him. She said she was waiting for you. He...didn’t take it well.”

“He told me, ‘Stay here, and be damned,’” Ziyal said. “I guess... I guess I just want to know if...if you think he meant it. I mean, would he turn his back on me forever just because I didn’t obey his demand?”

“You aren’t worried my perspective might be colored by my distaste for him?” Garak asked, fearing his stalling tactic was embarrassingly transparent.

“I think you care enough for Ziyal to do your best to give her as honest of an assessment as you can.” He heard the underlying threat and unspoken, _Or else,_ in Kira’s flat voice.

“True.” He hated the uncertainty in the dusk blue eyes locked to his with laser focus, hated more what he had to tell her. “It’s possible,” he said. “Your father isn’t someone used to being disobeyed, I’m afraid.” It was something he knew more than a little bit about when it came to his own father.

“But...” Ziyal gestured her frustration. “It’s so unfair! I mean, I never even knew him until I was practically grown. He’s the one who chose to drop me off here. He entrusted me to Nerys, so I do the best I can to adapt to that and do what’s expected of me, until he makes a ridiculous demand. _Ridiculous,_ because everyone hated me on Cardassia, and he’s...he’s with the Dominion! I mean, how could he? You’ve been more of a father to me than he has. I’m expected to pick up and run off without knowing if you’re alive or dead?”

He tried to ignore how it made him feel to hear her say he was a father to her, how much his feelings had changed on the topic since watching Tain die. It broke parts of him open he didn’t think could ever be touched. It made him want to beat Dukat to within an inch of his life and force him to beg his daughter’s forgiveness. He took one of her hands. Kira took the other. Their eyes met over her bent head while she struggled to regain control of her emotions. “While he’s angry, we’re not going to discover much of anything,” he said. 

“I know that. How long is he going to stay mad?” Her grip of his fingers was tight enough for discomfort.

“Probably a while.” He ignored Kira’s frown. She just told him to be honest, and for once he agreed with her that it was the best course of action. “Aren’t you angry, too?”

She bit her lip, fear flickering in her eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “If I say so, it will just drive him further away.”

“Maybe you should,” he said with more heat than he intended. He immediately tried to rein it in. “What I mean is that you are old enough to make your own decisions, and although it wasn’t his fault that you wound up in a Breen labor camp, you did. You survived on your own in harsh conditions without him. He doesn’t have the right to make demands of you when you haven’t been raised to the standards he expects you to follow.”

“You see?” Kira asked, trying to sound reasonable. “Garak is Cardassian, and he’s telling you the same thing I did.”

Ziyal pulled her hands away from both of them. “Only because I’m not Cardassian,” she said. Before Garak could protest, she blurted, “You said it. Not in those words, but you did. I wasn’t raised to be a Cardassian, so you’re not holding me to those standards, because I’m not one of you.”

“Ziyal,” he began.

“No! It’s true. I’m not. I’m not Cardassian. I’m not Bajoran. I don’t know what I am! I only know I’ll never be good enough for my father, and I’m tired of being...tolerated...and humored by people because no one knows what to do with me!” She fled the quarters in a flurry of a flapping dress hem before either of them could do more than stand.

“I’m sorry, Major,” Garak said. “I’m afraid I made things worse.”

“This isn’t your fault,” she said. He could see her anger wasn’t directed at him. “This is Dukat’s doing. I wish that smug, self-satisfied bastard was here right now. I’d punch him in his slimy mouth.”

He moved to clean up the mess of the dirty dishes, quite certain that following Ziyal would be a mistake. She needed time to calm down on her own. Maybe she’d seek out Jake, and he could offer her a perspective neither he nor the major could provide.

Kira gathered the Kotra pieces and put the set away. She helped him finish up with the last of the dishes. “She never once gave up on you coming back,” she said. “She believed your promise. You shouldn’t make promises like that, not when you can’t guarantee the outcome, not to girls like Ziyal.”

“I couldn’t avoid it,” he said, knowing how it sounded, like an excuse. Only it wasn’t. When she had looked at him the way she did, with so much need and fear when she realized he was heading into the Gamma Quadrant, his _only_ choice was to meet it with the best comfort he could provide. “I am never going to be a parent,” he said. He tucked the last dish into the recycler. “She is as close as I’ll ever come. She’s the reason I made it back.” More than Julian, because he had known that Julian could fend for himself and wouldn’t utterly shatter if he didn’t make it.

“I wish you were her father,” Kira said. “I bet you never thought you’d hear me say anything like that.”

“I’d wager you thought the same,” he said. “No, Major, don’t wish such terrible things. She’d never have survived it.”

“I don’t know, Garak,” she said. “If I had to place bets on anyone to keep her alive, you’d be high on the list. Not only have you made it back from the Gamma Quadrant repeatedly, you’ve brought survivors with you every time.”

“Even when I attempted to kill them. Maybe I truly am better than I think.” It was instinct, the tartness and withdrawal. Over time he’d grown less comfortable with her, not more. It wasn’t her fault that in her presence his conscience stung more than it ever had with Leeta or Aroya or that her tentative steps toward accepting him made him feel all the less deserving of it.

She scowled. “I don’t know why I bother with you,” she snapped.

“For Ziyal,” he replied immediately. “The same reason I accept your invitations and mostly behave myself.”

“If this is what you call behaving, I’d hate to see the alternative.” 

He could tell he had gotten sufficiently under her skin for one evening. It was time to make his tactical withdrawal. “If you see Ziyal before I do, Major, please...tell her I’d like to talk to her again when she feels ready for it.” He should have known some of this was coming. There were small signs along the way Ziyal wasn’t adapting as well as she tried to make them believe. The fact that it came to a head because of her own father infuriated him. _He doesn’t deserve her,_ he thought on his way out the door. _Any more than she deserves you._ True or not, it was far too late to pull away now. It would only do her harm.

_Julian  
The Promenade_

Walking was the only thing that made him feel halfway normal. He’d gone to see Roberto Telnorri before Miles or the captain could force the issue. The counselor was a good man and knowledgeable, but his advice seemed hollow and trite. He couldn’t journal his way out of this. He didn’t want to talk to his mother or his father. The very idea that they could just tell him they loved him, give him a hug, and accept a prison sentence in his father’s case, and then things would start to normalize was ludicrous.

About as ludicrous as Roberto’s assertion that if Julian gave people a chance, they would surprise him and show him he was valued. That was completely beside the point. He didn’t know who he was anymore. Having his secret ripped away like a bandage from a wound that had never been allowed to heal left him unprepared for how to act. He could no longer play the socially bumbling idiot who happened to be competent at his job. No one would buy it.

The problem was there was nothing credible to take its place. He had already noticed people’s discomfort when he made quick calculations or offered pointed insights. While he understood Miles’ insistence that he stand further from the dart board when they played, it was indicative of a deeper problem, wasn’t it?

His feet and legs ached from the amount of walking he’d done lately. His body longed for sleep, yet every time he lay his head to his pillow, he jerked awake within an hour or so, at first disoriented and gasping for air, and then once he’d placed himself consumed with thoughts of the changeling in his quarters. It was such a violation. Roberto’s assertion that his feelings were normal didn’t help him figure out how to cope with them. _Aren’t you expecting a bit much from two sessions?_ he thought dryly.

Stopping to lean on the railing, he jerked back when it shifted under him and resolved itself into the shape of Odo. With a hand to his chest, he let out a loud breath. “Don’t _do_ that,” he said. 

“I suppose you’d rather I’d let you lean on me, maybe talk to yourself in front of me and say something you don’t want anyone to know?” Odo grated.

He sighed. “No, of course not.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of this,” Odo said, eying him. “I’ve seen you all over the station ever since your return. I doubt your enhancements mean you don’t actually need sleep.”

He didn’t want to talk about it. He hadn’t been on great terms with Odo since his last breakup with Garak. That whole business during Garak’s incarceration hadn’t endeared the constable to him. “I’m fine,” he said.

“Really?” Odo shook his head. “That’s why you barely spend enough time with the chief to finish a game of darts?”

“Keeping a close eye on the augment?” Julian asked sharply.

Odo’s posture stiffened. “When I was a solid, you more than anyone else helped me deal with the...messier aspects of it without embarrassing me or having a joke at my expense. You’ve been through more than your share of stress lately, and I know part of that is due to my people. Is it so hard to believe I want to help you?”

He looked away, suddenly ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not myself lately.”

“You’ve never really had a chance to be yourself,” Odo pointed out. “I know exactly what that is like, Doctor. It’s...difficult to make yourself fit in with people so different from you that some of what they do seems nonsensical. You do it anyway, because the alternative is unpleasant.”

He eyed him askance, aware Odo was revealing a part of himself that he rarely, if ever, showed to anybody and that he was doing it on his behalf. He licked his lips and made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. “I...have a confession. When you were so passionate on behalf of the infant Jem’Hadar we found, I wanted so very badly to tell you I understood. I’m intimately familiar with how it feels to be taken apart in a lab, poked and prodded, hurt, and unable to understand any of what’s happening to you or why.

“I felt like the worst sort of coward not telling you that. You fearlessly put yourself out there, and I just sat there listening and making my own arguments from the Hippocratic Oath, when all I truly felt like was a hypocrite.”

Odo listened in silence, then turned to look out over the empty Promenade beneath them. “I’m glad you told me now,” he said. “I think you should talk to the chief about whatever is bothering you about him. I think you underestimate his ability to understand.”

_It’s not his understanding that’s the problem,_ he thought glumly. It was hard feeling like the individual pieces of a scrambled jigsaw, only parts of him fitting with the fractured parts of others. He could talk to Odo about feeling like an outsider but not about his hurt with Miles. He rubbed a hand down his face. He felt Odo watching him, waiting for an answer. “I’ll...think about it,” he said. It was the best he could do.

“That’s a start,” the changeling said. “I’m going to get back to patrolling. I’ll be honest with you that I haven’t always liked you. You earned my respect early on, though. Now you have both. You’re only as alone as you choose to be. Good night, Doctor.”

“Good night.” He watched him leave, for the first time since his return feeling as though he could breathe more freely again. He needed to stop underestimating his friends. Roberto was right about that. And he needed sleep. Odo was right also.

He took the turbolift to H-3 and didn’t hesitate to ring Garak’s chime. Smiling faintly to himself at having to identify himself before gaining entrance, he stepped into a darkened interior. He was grateful when the lights came up only enough to give him the ability to navigate the room. The bedroom was darker. His familiarity with it prevented him from stumbling into the edge of the bed.

“May I borrow some pajamas?” he asked softly.

“You know where I keep them, dear.” Garak was little more than a lump under covers. He thought he could just see the glossy crown of his head at the top of the thick blanket.

He stripped from his uniform and dressed without retreating to the refresher. Garak hadn’t shifted since his arrival. Leaving his own socks on, he pulled back the covers just enough to slip beneath them, tucked the edges back in, and settled himself back to back. “I’m not sleeping,” he confessed.

To his surprise, Garak shifted and rolled until he had an arm around him. “It’s endearing that you think you need to tell me that after all this time,” he said.

Julian snorted and wrapped his grip around Garak’s cupped hand. “It’s like that bastard is still in my quarters,” he said. It was easier to talk about in near darkness, faced away from him and cocooned beneath a warm blanket. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but he haunts my every step. He touched everything I had.”

“Not everything,” Garak countered.

“What if we hadn’t been separated?” He never thought he’d find himself grateful for Garak’s stubbornness and wrongheaded approach to being protective, but he was now. So grateful for that.

“Then he likely would have found a way to distance himself,” the tailor’s voice was pitched low and soothing. “He’d have known he couldn’t fool me in the bedroom. There are certain physical realities they can’t mimic, no matter how well they impersonate those they’ve replaced.” 

He hadn’t thought about that. It unsettled him and reassured him at the same time. He shuddered. “I’m glad you didn’t have to go through that. It’s one of the few things that worked out right after all was said and done.”

He snuggled in closer with a few wiggles and settled again. He had missed this feeling so much. He felt himself drifting closer toward sleep in small increments. “I feel like I’m being unfair to Miles,” he said, his tongue thick enough to slur it a bit. “I can’t let go that he didn’t know.”

“Consider this,” Garak said. “The changeling fooled Odo.”

That was true. He turned enough to slant a soft kiss along Garak’s jawline. “Thank you,” he murmured. “That...it helps. I’m surprised to hear you sticking up for him, though.”

“You mentioned something about sleep,” he reminded him.

Julian chuckled and closed his eyes. “Yes. You can rest easily. I wasn’t trying to get anything started.” Neither an argument nor intimacy. He was too bone weary for either.

“Well, when you feel as though you might want to, we can revisit that issue,” Garak said simply. “I’m not incapable of admitting when I’m wrong. Just don’t get used to it. It doesn’t happen often.”

**Author's Note:**

> Spanning from “In Purgatory’s Shadow” through “Doctor Bashir, I Presume,” this story wraps up Julian’s stay in the internment camp and sees a return to events covered more thoroughly in canon. I chose to cover very little of the action depicted in any of the three episodes beyond settling into different points of view than presented on the show. They were far too tightly written to be able to do much else within them but too pivotal to gloss over entirely.


End file.
